


A Particular Shade of Pink

by AvaRosier



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Multi, Sex Club AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 16:59:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13322544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaRosier/pseuds/AvaRosier
Summary: In which Sansa Stark gets all the orgasms she deserves and then some.





	A Particular Shade of Pink

Only two thoughts remain in Sansa's mind: ' _it's too much_ ' battles with ' _yes, please, don't stop_!' for supremacy. They're all she has room for, the last grasp she has on conscious thought with the terrifying cliff of release looming before her, closer and closer and...

She fists the pillow underneath her head, pulling it in opposing directions as the dildo continues to rock into her cunt in a steady rhythm that is maddeningly slow. The vibrator attachment at its base seems to oscillate in intensity, drawing the climb- and Sansa's torture- out. Through the gauzy floral fabric of the scarf tied around her head that obscures her vision, Sansa can make out the woman fucking her with the strap-on.

(Though does it count as 'fucking' if it doesn't involve pounding and lots of speed?)

Margaery has her head thrown back, exposing the pale line of her throat; her light brown, carefully curled hair is flipped to one side which permits Sansa a hazy view of the small wobble of her breasts, pale pink-tipped as they are. Every so often, like right now, Margaery reaches over with one hand and pinches one of Sansa's own nipples. This close to orgasm, the effect is immediate: a tiny burst of pain races throughout her nerve endings, right down to her clit and everything tightens onto a precipice. She can't help it; it's all she wants, to come.  She isn't consciously aware of her hands leaving the pillow and clutching at Margaery's arms as her breathing hitches and her legs begin to shake from the effort of straining to push her hips upward.

Everything stops.

Well, not everything. Though the low pitch of the buzzing quietens some, it doesn't go away entirely. The vibrations are still there, just barely making contact with Sansa's clit. Margaery had reached for the remote and only turned off _her_ vibrator, strategically nestled within the strap-on harness.

“Noooo,” Sansa whines, wriggling her hips in despair.

Margaery shushes her with a chastising 'nuh-huh' that forces Sansa's hips to still. That's the cruelty of it all- she's so close that just this butterfly's kiss from the vibrator could make her come...it just wouldn't be the earth-shaking orgasm she knows she was on the verge of.

“Hands down at your sides,” comes the warning for the second time that night. “Those are the rules if you want to come, and you want to come, don't you, pet?”

Sansa shudders, the dark swirl of emotion inside her surprising her with how much it pleases her to be Margaery's pet, her little plaything. This, them fucking, and them fucking _like this_ , is a completely spontaneous thing. She lowers her hands until they lie loosely on either side of her head. She also relaxes her legs until they are bent and resting on the mattress. Now that she has surrendered, there are no more thoughts in her head.

“Good girl,” Margaery coos. The buzz gets louder and then she's lazily rocking into Sansa again. She accepts the torment of the vibrator coming and going, remaining pliant even as she works her inner muscles to rhythmically bear down on the dildo. It's hard and relentless, splitting her open, and she just _takes_ it.

“Such a good pet,” Margaery continues to murmur above her, “you know that cunny is mine to do with as I wish. Maybe I'll keep you. You'd like that, wouldn't you? If I kept you tied to this bed and woke you up in the middle of the night with my fingers buried in that wet, needy quim.” Of course Margaery would have figured out how to use Sansa's abiding love of torrid historical romance novels against her.

Sansa shivers, gooseflesh breaking out all over her body. Then Margaery is grinding the base of the dildo against her, the vibrator pressing mercilessly against her clit and just like that, she's gone. Her climax hits her before her muscles can even tense in anticipation of it, rolling over her in waves where she had been defenseless against it. Hands close over her own, pinning her to the mattress. Sansa can't form the sounds of Margery's name, she can only whine as her limbs shake and pleasure ripples through her; all the while Margaery doesn't stop grinding their hips together. She's reaching her own peak and dragging Sansa back up and over with her.

Sansa strains, undulates, cries out loud enough that the entire building likely hears her, and rocks up against Margaery and that godsdamned vibrator until she has squeezed out every last spasm of her orgasm and Margaery is reaching for the remote.

The only noise in the room is the harsh sound of their breathing, and Sansa is so utterly wrung out she can do nothing but lie there limply, heart pounding in her ears, as Margaery pulls out and starts to busy herself with toy hygiene. Sansa can hear her friend humming to herself as if she hasn't just flipped Sansa's world on its axis. It's not that she's never had sex with a woman- she has. And it's not that she's never had anyone make her come hard before- she has.

The whole d/s thing? _That's_ what's new. Sansa rolls over onto her side, bringing her knees up a bit and pulling the makeshift blindfold off her head. Blinking against the dimness of the room, lit only by a single lamp in the corner, she watches Margaery finish wiping down the dildo and the vibrator attachments before setting it inside an open dresser drawer. A familiar stirring of something, like an itch so unreachable it resided within her bones, makes her wish Margaery were still in the bed with her, body curled against her own, running her fingers through Sansa's hair. Maybe some kissing, some cuddling...she bites her lip wistfully as her glimpse of Margaery's bum disappears beneath an ivory silk robe decorated with dark pink roses.

But therein lies the problem, because Sansa doesn't want to ask and get one of those pitying looks followed by a gentle rebuff. This isn't the start of something that involves dating. No, Margaery is her friend, a MBA student who's pretty much made it her mission to ensure Sansa has a life outside of classes, and who has a preternatural ability to separate sex from relationships. It's this ability Sansa hopes will rub off on her, making her life flow easier.

She's come to the conclusion that she had been looking for love in all the wrong places...that too many of her previous partners equated her desire for intimacy and depth with her being "crazy" or "super clingy" or a sign that she was rushing towards the altar. Which she most definitely is not. It wasn't until a few drunken, teary, and frank conversations with her friends that Margaery ended up taking her aside and asking whether she was willing to try a novel approach to getting what she needed. Which was how, earlier tonight, Sansa had been wallowing in the same post-breakup funk she'd been in for the past three weeks- eating brownies and making her way through every season of _The Real Housewives of Lannisport-_ when in swept Margaery to drag Sansa to what she had mistakenly assumed would be the usual clubs to get drunk and dance away her woes. Instead, Margaery had brought Sansa to the exclusive kink club she hadn't been aware even existed in Oldtown.

Not even wearing the expensive full coverage foundation had camouflaged the deep scarlet in her face. After they left, Margaery had proposed a way for Sansa to have her proverbial cake and eat it too.

" _Sweetie, have you ever considered bondage and submission_?"

No, actually, she had not ever considered _that_ before, not for herself. Outside of the more erotic type of romance novels she sometimes read, that is. And when Margaery took her to _The House of Lys_ , all wide-eyed behind her mask, Sansa had an epiphany. She may have melodramatically sworn off love for the rest of her life, but watching the still-clothed woman and the nude, bound man be completely absorbed in their own world as she coaxed him into what looked like a thousand, tiny, shattering orgasms...Sansa realized that maybe she could explore that kind of caring and connection without a serious partner.

She'd actually leaned over and whispered to Marg, “it's everything I never knew I wanted,” and gotten one of those knowing smirks in return.

 

And now...

 

And now Sansa knows it _is_ what she wants. She hadn't been brave enough to join in at the manor house, but Margaery had offered to give her a taste of what she'd seen. What's a little kink between friends, after all? As Sansa moves her trembling legs over the side of the bed and reaches for her underwear, she wonders if there will be any strain on their friendship that would make it impossible to go back to the way they were before. She has her bra and dress back on by the time Marg twists around and grins triumphantly, fingering the ties to her robe.

"So?"

"So?" Sansa releases a breathless chuckle as she wrestles with her tights. She's managed to not rip this pair for the two years she's had it. "I see what you mean about the intensity of it, but I'm not sure how I'll ever have the guts to actually participate at the club without feeling like it's obvious to everyone that I'm a complete neophyte." 

Margaery rolls her eyes. "Whatever happened to your 'I'm going to be a bold new woman' speech? I seem to recall a line in there somewhere about not letting your life be dictated by what people thought of you, but maybe that was brought on by the alcoholic mess of an Fair Isle Iced Tea you had just guzzled down."

"Words are easy until you'd actually have to do the thing?" She says, a tad facetiously. Margaery shoots her a barely amused look.

"Cute. But seriously, Sansa, the club can be whatever you want it to be." Sansa nods mutely as she finishes zipping up her boots and begins to shrug into her jacket. "But do let me know so I can tell Chataya to extend you an official invite."

"I will." She loiters by the door for a moment before turning back to Margaery. "And thanks."

 

The walk back to the house she shares with eight other women even feels like something of a revelation for Sansa. The late autumn air is crisp and salty, refreshing on her flushed skin. It's well after two in the morning on Saturday and instead of sleep, all she wants to do is open up her laptop and start doing research on BDSM and various other kinks. Hell, she would even bet she could find plenty of pictures on tumblr. Porn gifsets and the like. And then she could make up a list of pros and cons to taking Margaery up on her offer to get an invite to the _House of Lys_. Sansa is almost twenty-three now, and under the grind of graduate school, she's felt an increasing urge to do something bold, something that would shake her out of the rut she can feel her life falling into. 

And okay, yes, she's _horny_. Her very healthy imagination has been lacking for expression lately and maybe Margaery is right, what she really needs is to be tied up and fucked, and then some.

By the time the loose gravel is crunching under her foot, Sansa knows she's going to be joining Oldtown's premier kink club.

  
  


  
  


 

 

 


End file.
